The Forgotten (19 page)

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Authors: Tamara Thorne

Tags: #Horror

BOOK: The Forgotten
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51
The detached physician part of Gabe Rawlins sat on his shoulder and told him how interesting it was to watch people react to something frightening and incomprehensible. Will had obviously been shocked, but he practically ran to the apparition, intent on finding an explanation. Will lived for explanations. If there was none, he wouldn't rest until he came up with one that at least satisfied him. Kevin, on the other hand, stayed glued to his chair, his drunkenness a thing of the past. He was afraid. Gabe was, too, and although he'd stood up and gone protectively to stand by Kevin, his hand hugging his partner's trembling shoulder, he wasn't about to go any closer to that
thing
hanging in mid-air. The floating aspect frightened him far more than the blood and gore.
Maggie had stood up and walked to the wide arch that demarcated the boundary between the dining and living rooms. She was fascinated, the calmest of all of them. She cocked her head and stared and probably would have joined Will, but the male apparition appeared then, right at her feet. She'd looked down at the mutilated remnants of face, registering only fleeting shock before the captivated look returned. He thought she would arch her eyebrow like Mr. Spock and say, “Fascinating,” but at that instant, Will had yelled
Michael!
and fainted dead away. He hoped that was all it was.
“Get a glass of water,” Gabe told Kevin.
The ghost still hung in the air, but Maggie paid it no mind. She ran for Will, throwing herself down, covering his body with her own. The little doctor on Gabe's shoulder pointed out that her reptilian brain, the most primitive part of her, made her do that. After a second, maybe less, he saw her rational mind point out that there was no danger from the apparition. She sat up and bent her face down over Will's, checking his breathing, talking to him. For the first time, she looked frightened.
“Water, Kevin. Now!” Gabe pulled his chair back, jolting Kevin back to earth. “Bring water. Bring my bag.”
Gabe was beside Maggie in an instant. He took over. Everything pointed to a faint, not a heart attack, and when Kevin appeared with his bag, he checked more carefully, then snapped open an old-fashioned ammonium carbonate cap and wafted it under Will's nose.
After a couple seconds, Will reacted strongly, turning his head away, eyes fluttering, then squinting. Gabe took away the salts. Will tried to sit up, but Gabe put his fingertips against his chest and Maggie positioned herself so that his head ended up in her lap. “Not yet, cowboy,” Gabe told him. “Give your circulation a chance to put more blood back in your brain.”
“I fainted?”
“Any chest pain? Arm pain? Any pain at all?”
“No. But I fainted, didn't I?”
“Yes. Ever do that before?”
Will looked stricken. “Yeah, a long time ago.”
“What caused it? A shock or heat or something else?”
Will closed his eyes. Maggie put a cool hand on his forehead. “What caused it was seeing through my brother's guts when he was shot. Before he fell, I saw daylight through him.”
“That explains why you yelled his name,” Maggie said gently.
“I did?” Will was fully alert now. “What else did I say?”
“Nothing. Just ‘Michael.' Why? What do you think you said?”
Will didn't answer for a long moment. Finally, he said, “I don't even remember saying my brother's name. Kevin, that water looks good.”
“Oh, yeah. Here.” Shakily, he passed it to Gabe. Maggie helped Will sit up and Gabe held the glass to his lips, but after an instant, Will took it, no less shaky than Kevin, and drank deeply.
Gabe looked at his partner, who hovered a couple feet back. The apparition still hung over them—the willpower Kevin had to have to stand so close was inspiring. Gabe smiled and winked, then said, “How about making up the guest room, Kev? Will can stay here tonight.”
“No. I have to go home. I'm fine.”
“No, you're staying. Doctor's orders.”
“Christ, Gabe, I fainted, what's the big deal? Look, Maggie can drive me home; Kevin, you drive my car into work in the morning. Will that satisfy you?”
Gabe hesitated. It was probably fine, but he really didn't want him to leave. “No, if anything else happens to you, I should be around.”
Will started looking pissed off. He got to his feet, barely touching Maggie's proffered arm. “I have to go home.”
“Gabe,” Kevin said from the doorway. “He has to feed his cats.”
“Maggie can do that.”
“I can't leave them alone. Something scared them last night.”
“What?”
“How the hell should I know? If you had pets, you might know what I mean. Ask Maggie.”
“Animals were not normal last night,” she said. “Gabe, come here a minute.” She walked into the kitchen. He followed.
She shut the pocket door and spoke softly but firmly. “You're not doing him any good. You're embarrassing him. Do you think he wants to tell you how much he loves those cats? It will humiliate him, but he'll do it if you force him.”
“Why?”
“They're his children, and you know it. You joke about it.”
“I know. I understand, but Maggie, they're just animals. It's not like they're human.”
“How can you be so stupid? They're no different from human children to him. He'd run into a burning building to save them. In case you haven't noticed, they're his main reason for living.”
“I noticed. He needs a mate. He needs you, and
you
know that.”
“I don't know what else he needs, but he needs to be there for his cats. He needs to protect them. Even if I was his mate, he'd care just as much about them as he does now.”
“Come on. How can you think that?”
Her eyes practically burned him. “Because I feel the same way about my pets.”
“Then why are you willing to leave them alone and stay with him?”
“You're being a bitch, Gabe, but listen up. My animals were excited. His were terrified. Big difference. I'm taking Will home. I'll stay with him until he's ready to go to bed. Or all night if you think I should.”
“Yeah. Okay. Use your own judgment.” Gabe took her hand and squeezed it. “I'm sorry, Mags. I deal solely in people. I need to let what you just said sink in. I'm sorry for acting like a shit.”
“Apology accepted.” She squeezed back. “Thanks, Gabe.”
52
“It's going better than I expected,” Pete Banning told Nedders. He was standing by his silver SUV on Felsher Hill. Not another living soul was around.
Or dead for that matter,
he thought, as he smirked into the cell phone. “I've been watching the customers, Neddy, just the few I've bugged already, and you know what?”
“What?”
“A whole lot of people think they've got ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” Nedders snickered. “What about voices? Anybody talking to themselves?”
“Yeah, we got a little of that. Mickey Elfbones is hearing them, for one. He spent last night making tin foil hats. He's sure I don't know.”
“Tell me about the ghosts.”
“Well, there's this one woman who I visited today, her mother died a year ago. And now she's back, tromping around the house. Even got in her bed last night, she said. Told me she's going to put salt across her bedroom door tonight. It's ghost repellent.”
“Really? Is that some old wives' tale or something?”
“How the shit should I know? Old wives, New Age, whatever. I tested the directional wave from the dish last night. Sent it over the ocean as we planned. Worked like a fucking charm. Bunch of seals got all fucked up. Seal-huggers came and rescued them.”
“Nice. What else?”
Pete gave him a few more details, keeping the best for last. “There's one more thing. We're way ahead of schedule.”
“How's that?”
“People are hearing things even when their sets aren't on.”
“Already? It can't be.”
“It sure as hell is.”
“In the lab tests it rarely happened, and only after long exposure. Have you double-checked all the wave levels?”
“Everything's right as rain, Neddy. Right as fucking rain.”
“I was just thinking about those ghost hallucinations. I'd like to know if you see any evidence of people living in the same residence sharing hallucinations. If you find a shared one, I want to know if one was affected first or if they were both affected and one switched to the other's delusion. Suggestibility. And watch for people who have standing haunt stories about their homes. I'll bet if they already know stories, they will tend to dream up the ghosts.”
“Interesting. Gotta go. Felicia's keeping my dinner warm.”
“She's patient. What is it, past ten?”
“Just. Felicia understands about working late.” He laughed. “I made sure she understood.”
“How'd you do that? Beat her up?” Nedders was joking.
“Works for me.” Pete wasn't joking. “I got a three-point plan for keeping wives in line. First you love 'em up, bring 'em candy, some bubbly bath, and fuck their brains out. Next point is a little glitter. Diamonds really make 'em behave. Then, if that doesn't work, you have to beat the shit out of them, but never leave a mark. Cover your ass, Neddy, that's what you taught me, and that's what I do.”
“You trying a cable box on her?”
“No. We only have a couple TVs, bedroom and den, and I sure don't want to be exposed. Maybe if she pisses me off, I'll buy her a set for her craft room. ”
“What's a craft room?”
“It's where women keep all that diddly-shit stuff they make things with. Glue and yarn and sewing crap. Felicia has a bunch of flower pots. She likes to paint them. She thinks she's an artist.”
“Is she any good?”
Pete laughed, low and lewd. “If she wasn't any good, I wouldn't keep her. The woman can pick up a champagne bottle with her pussy and carry it across the room without dropping it. She does exercises. You oughta see what she can do.”
“Maybe you oughta put an eye in your bedroom one night and let me take a look. Recon.”
“
Mi casa es su casa, amigo.
I'll let you know when to tune in.”
53
The body of Minnie Lavia, neighbor of Lobelia Hatch, had been taken away at last. Her parrot flew the coop in a flash of green when Lobelia unlocked Minnie's door before the police got there. She had gone in, practically dragging a reluctant Daniel with her, but once they entered the room with the body and got a whiff and an up-close look at the face the parrot must have been redesigning for days, it was Lobelia who vomited all over Minnie's poor, dead feet. Daniel had escorted her outside to await the police and had apologized to a nice redheaded sergeant for his mother's vomit. All the while, his penis kept telling him to fuck Minnie in the empty eye socket. Sex was the farthest thing from Daniel's mind, but Dick never stopped thinking about it, and he had absolutely no scruples. Woman, eye socket, the butterscotch pudding cooling in Mother's refrigerator earlier tonight, it was all the same to him. Daniel had let it add a little protein to the pudding, then smoothed it over so Lobelia wouldn't know—the truth was, he allowed it because the image of the old battle-ax eating his jism pleased him tremendously.
Serves her right.
Daniel helped Mother to her chair by the television, then got her a nice big dish. The pudding was still lukewarm, but nicely thickened. He slathered whipped cream on it because that's what she liked, placed a sleeping pill and a glass of water beside her and went home, pleading a need for sleep. The real need was to get away from Lobelia and her big fat mouth. Ever since she'd recovered from her vom-itfest, she'd been yammering on about Minnie Lavia and her messy house. “If she'd known the police were coming over tonight, you can bet she would have vacuumed,” Lobelia declared. That was when Daniel decided he either had to leave or take the more drastic measures against her, as suggested by his penis.
54
Eleven o'clock in Caledonia. All over town, people were either in bed, or would be soon. About thirty percent of Caledonia Cable's customers had new systems and in many of those houses, people were feeling a little strange, exhibiting neuroses hitherto unseen, hearing voices, hearing noises, creaks and footsteps, and having nightmares.
There was another death in town that night. Abby Abernathy, a morose woman who lived in the same cheap apartment complex as Mickey Elfbones, had spent the day watching her programs and the late afternoon and evening watching the Soap Channel, taking in rerun after rerun of her favorite serials. Abby, who was in love with at least two men on each show, wrote letters to them during commercials, commiserating and advising them on problems they were having with their wives and lovers.
Abby had a tenuous hold on reality in the first place and now that she had the new cable box—and the wonderful Soap Channel—things deteriorated rapidly. Sitting in front of the television, squinting through little granny glasses perched on her nose, she muttered and sang, called to the people on the shows, trying to get their attention. “Don't talk to her, she cheated on you with your father!” and “Don't touch her! She's a zombie, brought back from the dead!” and “She's carrying Brad's baby, don't marry her!” and on and on. On this day, she proposed to four of the leading men, but none answered, though she was pretty sure one of the females had told her to get lost, that Jeremy was hers and Abby couldn't have him.
Finally, during a late-night rerun, after pleading with Gerald to leave that bitch Chloe and come live with her, she threatened to take sleeping pills. She threatened three times, and he continued to ignore her.
Finally, she went into the bathroom and got the bottle. Then she went to the fridge and took an iced tea tumbler full of white wine from the box she kept next to the orange juice. Topping it with vodka from the freezer, she carried it to the living room and, right in front of Gerald, swallowed the pills one by one. She had to go back twice for more wine and vodka to finish off the bottle.
That bastard Gerald never even noticed when she died.
 
 
Lara Sweethome felt better after confiding in that nice Pete Banning, who owned Caledonia Cable. He was her doctor's brother, a fact they both found fascinating. She was sure the doctor would be pleased to know they'd met. Pete was very different from the doctor in some ways. Not as handsome, but far more outgoing. The doctor was sort of an understated type, dignified but very approachable. She loved his shy smile. Pete, on the other hand, had a huge, glowing smile, and was incredibly outgoing. She even asked if he was married. He'd never answered the question, and that gave her hope. Maybe she'd ask him over for coffee.
Like the doctor, he was such a good listener—even better, really, because he seemed to really love hearing about ghosts. He asked questions and hung on her every word. The doctor, good as he was, didn't believe in ghosts, so she knew he thought she was imagining things. Hopefully, he'd call back in a day or two and make a date to come over and meet her mother. He wasn't married either, come to think of it.
She had heard footsteps most of the evening, but the doctor's tranquilizers had helped and they didn't bother her too much. But she didn't want her mother climbing into bed with her again. That was horrible, especially because she'd dreamed it was a man before she felt those cold breasts pressing into her back.
She almost slept in the bathtub, but buoyed by Pete's visit, she poured a thick line of salt across the doorway, closed the door over it, and slept in her own bed. Because of the medication, she didn't wake up, even when the covers moved by themselves and something cool climbed in between the sheets with her.
 
 
Doris Tilton wore her earplugs and slept with her husband because sleeping in the recliner had left her sore and cranky. When she'd returned home from her shopping trip, she felt refreshed, and Wallis had quickly whisked her off to an expensive, romantic lunch and a drive up to San Simeon to tour Hearst Castle. She loved to go there, but Wallis could rarely be talked into it, so this seemed extra special to her. Arriving back in town, Wallis had taken her to another exclusive restaurant for a late dinner. When they arrived home, they had gone straight to bed. Wallis didn't even want to watch the news. Instead, they made love, simply and slowly. She snuggled up to him now and in his sleep the old goat reached out and cupped her breast. He hadn't done that in a decade.
 
 
In the apartment of the Flagg family, one of the kids finally noticed the lady-in-white phantom pacing back and forth behind the couch. Both kids thought it was pretty cool, Mother Flagg was unnerved, and Father Flagg said it was fog.
 
 
Mia Hunt Hartz called the police twice because of noises in her backyard. They came out once, but declined a second trip. Now, lying sleepless in bed, she heard the childish monstrosities again, screeching, running, tramping. The voices seemed very close in the silence of the night and, with a nervous shiver, she got up and closed the window, the blinds, and the curtains. It made no difference. Finally, Mia went to the guest room on the other end of the house and slept there. She could still hear them, but they weren't quite so loud.
 
 
Gabe and Kevin were asleep, locked away in their bedroom, which was at the opposite end of the house from the living room. Gabe had let Kevin have another half glass of wine—he didn't want to give him a tranquilizer when he'd been drinking—and the younger man had dropped off quickly, but he remained, after nearly an hour in bed, spooned in against Gabe, curled up as tight as he could, the fingers of one hand twined through Gabe's in a rictus that would probably leave them both with pins and needles.
Gabe couldn't sleep. Instead, he pondered the imponderables, ranging from the existence of ghosts, of God, of good and evil, to the mysteries of Will Banning, his relationship with Maggie, and his dislike of the mere mention of Pete. Then he thought about cats, birds, and seals, and finally, he began to doze off.
On the edge of sleep, he came wide awake, thinking he heard a baby cry. No, he told himself,
it was just your imagination.
After a long period of silence, the soft sounds of Kevin's rhythmic breathing finally lulled him to sleep.
Out in the living room, Jason and Carrie Cockburn made several unnoticed appearances. If Pete had a camera in that house, he would have messed his shorts. How could hallucinations appear without the people present? And how could he be seeing them through a camera lens if they really were just simple hallucinations?
 
 
Mickey Elfbones built some more hats, this time using tin snips to cut up aluminum pie plates to put inside his hats. That was because the cardboard stiffeners hadn't done a damned thing. Doc Banning's tranks had made work easier—leveling off the panic attacks so that he could function as long as animals couldn't actually touch him, but they didn't do anything for the voices. He'd hoped they would.
The pie-tin hat was uncomfortable, but Pete kept it on in bed. Awaiting sleep, he mentally designed a skullcap style hat in his head. He'd make one of those tomorrow before bedtime. This was just too uncomfortable.
 
 
Pete Banning, sitting in his home office, watched Heather Boyd get ready for bed. The young woman with the to-die-for body didn't have the television or pajamas on, but she did spend some time with a large vibrator, relieving stress in the old-fashioned way, the covers neatly folded back so Pete had a front-row seat. Pete saw stress released from her body eight times, then he forgot about counting.
Putting away his own stress-relieving tool, he decided he would have to pay a service call to Miss Boyd at his earliest convenience. Now, it was time for sleep. He stood up, glancing at the clock. An hour remained before his latest broadcasting experiment would begin. It was an experiment Hitchcock would have loved.

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